World War III of Love

Just when I was thinking that TV watching was getting mundane, and reality shows becoming increasingly monotonous if not totally incongruous, MTV comes to my rescue with Splitsvilla 3, “where love is war”.

Well, for the uninitiated, this show is not about love; it is about a bunch of desperate youngsters craving for publicity on national TV in the vain hope that one day they will be transformed into a la Nikhil Chinappa or Purab Kohli, or get a breakthrough in one of the numerous saas-bahu sagas, or land up a modeling assignment, or, stretching imagination a little too far, even get to star in a bollywood flick.

Couples and singles in a villa bonding, rebonding, fighting, clawing, abusing and getting dumped – that in a nutshell, Ladies and Gentlemen, is Splitsvilla for you.

But, my criticism of the show ends right here. This reality show offers mega entertainment value. I could hands down give it a top slot in the most asinine yet highly amusing TV serials of all times. It’s a complete package encapsulating the gamut of human emotions – there is looove (supposedly, yes), hatred, anger, jealousy, cat fights, crocodile tears, failed attempts to woo the king and queen and pride and vanity, and the list goes on.

The highlights are ofcourse the RSRs (road side romeos) with the funny and unmistakable North-Indian accents who, had it not been for MTV, would most likely meet you down the road and propose to you “descent fraandship”; The “babes” with little clothes and lesser common sense – crude and crass, yet the fake British accent – even when they speak in Hindi or Punjabi. (To be fair, there are some exceptions, but not noteworthy :)).

What entertains me? All this.

A hectic work week, a lazy Saturday, boring soaps, movies with too many ads – who would mind unintelligent humor at the cost of desperadoes who are at their “real” best, with the channel extracting every idiosyncrasy (I swear I don’t blame them one bit) to create an hour of hysterically laughable moments.

There is still sometime for this show to reach the “dumping zone”!

Consolatory?

The state of sorrow is much complex;

Vivid, vibrant, and enigmatic,

Multi-layered, acute and profound;

If anything can be absolute,

It is anguish, distress and sadness.

Joy pales in comparison;

A superficial moment captured

With an agitated vulnerability;

Happiness is ephemeral, destructible.

Despair is eternal;

It enhances the charm

Of the subject it affects;

Adding strength to the character,

Are the tears held back

And not the smiles flashed.

No poet can do justice

To human emotion if he

Does not talk of

Aching hearts and bruised souls.

There is more to talk about

Dead winters and falling leaves

Than green summers and delightful springs.

What worth is the life that has not

Cried for love, nor lost a dear possession;

If you have not fallen off a swing,

Or been hurt by someone near;

If you have not failed a test that mattered

Nor cherished an unfulfilled dream

You still have miles to go…

In a perverse way, that joy does not,

Sorrow completes our existence.

It consummates the cycle of life -

Satiating the deep gorges

That beatitude leaves behind…

After a long long time...

The last 4 to 6 weeks have been maddening. A jam-packed work schedule left very little time to indulge in aspects of Life that interest me and are very dear to me - apart from ofcourse documenting applications that die out on you when you need to validate interface specifications, writing down boring UNIX based installation commands, sitting in endless planning and review meetings, and getting nightmares about packaging help instructions :p.

Well, thankfully, gears are shifting back to normal and I am in the process of catching up with myself - blissfully long hours of sleep, culinary gratification, retail therapy, a rejuvenating massage - yes, the order has been precisely this so far. And finally, today I did some sketching as well. (*clapping hands in glee*)

For details on how the artist bug bit me sometime mid of this year, see the following blog posts:

• Just to put on record...
• Recording progress...
• Some relics from the past...

And here's presenting to you, after a very very long time, some determined Saturday morning work. Yes, yes, I am getting scratchy again - Practice, darling, practice I shall...

Is it December already?

For the last 25 years of my life, year-end has always been coincidental with a sharp dip in the mercury, freezing temperatures, multiple layers of warm clothing, bonfires and binging sprees.

At the risk of making this blog appear more like a weather column (my last post being on the rains ;)), I want to put on record how sorely I miss the winter season.

For god’s sake, it’s December and I am in my cottons and sleeveless and pastels and all things that are summer. 365 days of summer (and that’s more boring than the flick – 500 days of summer). On this one account Delhi scores a brownie point over Chennai – always. I do not get the feeling of movement towards the closure of the year.

Though I have spent all my winters before this year in Delhi, my most memorable chill has been during my brief stint in Chicago – nothing beats the beauty of the snow - Here’s the post.

I love waking up to the cold nip in the air, the frosted windows and breaths, the foggy mornings, the smoggy afternoons, the almost zero visibility on the roads, the all-day twilight, and then the dense darkness, the groundnuts sold on the roadside along with a halo of luminous gas lamps, the excuse to indulge in gastronomical treats such as gajar ka halwa, gulab jamuns, dry fruits, chikki, and what not so that you are warm, the comfort of the thick quilts, yet the instant dismissal of the sweaters and coats at a wedding even though it’s freakin’ cold coz you want to look your best (weather notwithstanding), the frost bites on your toes that force you to wear two layers of socks (I have the record of wearing three!!!), the once-in-a-while sunshine that brings a snug feeling only because it is winter…Winter is priceless…

Most people I have met prefer other seasons instead, and I in the true spirit of being me, always beg to disagree … the following quote is dedicated to them,

“Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.”

Wishing you all a happy and chilly year end…

Raindrops on roses...

The local headlines in Chennai, a city am still learning to get accustomed to and growing attached to, maybe bordering on even falling in love with, inspite of all the idiosyncrasies, read something like this:

"Heavy rains batter Chennai"; "Torrential rains flood the city"

My FIL had sounded high alert this Wednesday itself. Frankly, I hadn't been giving second thought to his warnings and words of caution simply because I was being chaperoned everyday to work and it didn't really matter how the weather was, second work pressure has been a little over the top!

However, our driver gave us the royal ditch by not turning up on both the days with the so called "torrential rains" - yesterday and today. On Friday, I was furious - I hated the auto ride, the flooded streets, the dirty wetness in the feet, the dripping umbrella, the messed up hair...

But today morning, when I got up to the sound of the turbulent downpour from the menacingly dark clouds above - spatting on us mortal with a venomous vengeance - I smiled and opened my bedroom window wide.

I lingered my gaze out for quite a long time - in that seemingly thunderous outburst was tranquility that is sometimes missing in the most silent of places, in the blurred scene there was clarity of thought.

I had to go to work but I couldn't bring myself to complain. I recalled the wonderful times when all us kids in the neighborhood used to get together and play frisbee in the rains; the joy of splashing in water is unmatched - believe me.

Anyways, I put on some good loud bollywood music (for those interested: Love aaj kal, New York and that stupid chiggy wiggy song ;)), and geared up for work. I had to take a rick, pick this colleague, who's more a friend, R, from her place and then travel to office.

When I reached the street next to my place, my first reaction was Oh my gawd!! There was almost knee-deep water on the roads, that were now transformed to rivers and u bet, I was so excited.

Water flooding our auto, R wading through the river to reach us, cars splashing water to right uptil your face - there was mayhem in the city and I was in the middle of it! I was mightily kicked - I mean c'mon, am I in a metro city or what? Though, this time I did not feel like cribbing about the infrastructure or rather the lack of it.

I always miss Kodak moments and was able to capture only one or two low resolution pics on my mobile camera. Posting one here.

The situation was much worse in the evening - it took us almost an hour to reach home and when I got off the auto I just didn't feel like opening up the umbrella - I hopped and skipped in the rain, savoring the wonderful feeling of the water drops falling on my cheeks and tiptoed home! It sounds crazy, but I feel like doing the frisbee thing or the aimless splashing around once again - there are only very few things that can salvage your soul from the chaotic depressing misery of everyday reality, and getting wet in the rain is one of them.

I love the person who wrote:

“Anyone who says sunshine brings happiness has never danced in the rain”

Happy rain dancing, everyone!

Mélange...

For as long as I can remember, when it comes to anything new - a new school, a new job, a new challenge, a new assignment, I have always been super excited. I love the charged electricity in the air around me, the anxious enthusiasm to get things done in the best possible manner, the emotional connection with the task at hand, the euphoric success at the end of it...

And one such rather small but nevertheless a mission in itself was the creation and release of the first organization-wide newsletter. A month of running across the entire floor, after-5 meetings in chilly conference rooms (only colleagues would understand this :)), fervent discussions on name, content, design, and every small detail, clash of ideas and preferences, consensus building and compromised choices - whoa - we, the team, are one determined lot and we sailed through...

November 6th saw a few of us suffering minor cardiac arrests and panic attacks as we hurdled across some last few hitches - but all's well that ends well - Mélange was on time, and yes everybody finds their baby perfect - so did we!

However, this is just the start of what will command continuous dedicated effort - maintaining the content, quality, and interest in a monthly newsletter is a daunting task.

Well begun is half done they say. Touch wood.

Is Delhi ready for the Queen’s baton?

As London sets the stage for the Commonwealth Games baton relay where the Queen will pass on the torch to our First Lady, I cross my fingers.

Come October 2010, and Delhi will be the cynosure of world attention as it hosts the 2010 Commonwealth Games. Since its selection in 2003, Delhi has been gearing up for this mega event. With a sanctioned budget of more than 5000 Crores, we have seen infrastructural improvements in the capital city – neat flyovers, the blessed Metro, the beautiful Akshardham, the much talked about Commonwealth Games Village, commissioning of new buses, widening of roads – we might not be doing the best but we could have been much worse!

This time around, it is not the cynic in me but the proud Delhite that asks the question – Are we there yet? Are we ready? Are we all set? We better be. The last time I visited Delhi (that’s like a month back), the flyovers seemed okay, the residential complex near the Commonweallth Village looked a tad bit incomplete and the Metro project looked derailed from its planned schedule, by quite a measure!

As Pratibha Patil asserted Delhi’s readiness for the games on BBC, I sent out a silent prayer to the one above – “We might be behind schedules, we might be corrupt, we might have slacked off – but God please save the face of 1.2 billion people who are united by their national identity and pride. Let no shortcoming dampen the enthusiasm of the event, let no tragedy mar the spirit of the season, and most importantly, let every visitor and guest experience the spirit that is Delhi - the rich cultural heritage blended with modern amenities, the historical old world charm in the backdrop of a fast-paced urbane city. - Amen”

This is our moment – go Delhi go!

Love Jehad

In an earlier post, I had talked about the complexity and heartache behind a girl changing her name after marriage. However, I realize this could be a much smaller issue, when compared to the ‘love jehad’ or ‘romeo jehad’ talked about in a news snippet here.

Apparently, some groups in Kerala are concertedly working on converting Hindu girls to Islam after they fall in love with Muslim boys.

I can’t even decipher the plethora of emotions that crossed my mind and heart as I read the article. It is not only to do with the status of women in our society even in this day and age; it also has not much to do with questions on will men convert instead; it is about introspecting on our own religion and our own god!

Ofcourse, this is no breaking news to any of us; we all have at some point or the other heard of such conversions in an inter-religion marriage – Hindu-Muslim, Hindu-Christian, Christian-Muslim. However, each time I read a story of coerced transition in the name of love and religion, I cringe in fear.

Every religion says one God, every religion says respect the other – If there is one God, and each religion simply sees a different manifestation of the same super power, we are doing a great injustice to our concept of God or the Almighty by forcing one to change his or her religion.

It is unfortunate that how the history of human kind unravels the degenerative association of God with religion, religion with traditions and beliefs, traditions and beliefs with division, division with hatred, and hatred with bloodshed.

Light?

A nagging desire for light

The night has been black, evil almost
The fear of the unknown
Intensifying in the obscurity
Haunting shadows, now apparitions

The promise of the morning beacon
Offers little consolation
If it is not now
It doesn’t really matter when

The question of survival
Lasts only as long as
The darkest vertex
And once that is endured
The shimmer of the break of dawn
No longer warms the soul

The blinding blaze and the
Beaming glow, the piercing
Ebony and the deafening silence
Concatenates into a nebulous halo
Enveloping the consciousness
Of the being that once
Yearned for eternal illumination

The nagging desire for light
Replaced by the strength to
Bear nadirs and zeniths alike

SOS – Our hill stations need a savior!

A kumaoni by birth, I have been very proud of my “native” land – the hills of Uttarakhand (formerly, Uttaranchal, and before that a part of the state of Uttar Pradesh). Most of our vacations during my growing up years were spent visiting breathtaking valleys and mountainous ranges of Nainital, Bhimtal, Almora, Pithoragarh and Lohaghat – the lesser known but much more beautiful cousins of the more popular – Mussorie and Dehradun.

This time around I visited the hills after a gap of 5 years. The journey was as always arduous and my affinity to mountain sickness does not help matters. But forget that. Dad took a less-traveled route to Almora – our chosen destination - and it was undoubtedly one of the most scenic drives I have ever taken. The long winding roads wrapped around the mountains with royal pines spread out till as far as the eye can see, and the mist rising softly as if from below the mountains – heaven is here.

But before I could completely lose myself in the picturesque view that enveloped us, the driver screeched rudely at our first halt.

Rickety shops lined along the road serving food that has never known the word hygiene. Sanitation is at its worst. No, you don’t want a description of the restrooms.

We tried to drown the ugly reality in the beauty of nature and reached Almora - a town that has not changed with the passage of time. I do not know if I mean this as an appreciation. Almora still does not have a drainage and sewage system. The vehicles have increased but the roads have deteriorated.

Move to Nainital – all that is good about the place is what the colonial rule bequeathed on us. We have barely been able to maintain the infrastructure developed by the British more than 200 years ago. The number of people visiting these places has multiplied manifold, and the “mall” road has become a mess of smoke and noise.

What makes me so bitter at the state of affairs is that nothing is being done, nobody is bothered. What should not change – the weather, the majesty of nature, the peace and solitude of the place – is changing thanks to global warming, unchecked pollution and total disregard for our natural heritages; And what should change – the infrastructure, roads, education of the local population, sanitation – is not changing.

It is a frustrating experience seeing these places that offer hope for retreat and sanity in a world that’s maddeningly complicated, simply fade away their charm and glory.

However, I must mention that Bhimtal is a few notches better than the other two places. There is a serenity in the place that is intoxicating. So maybe next summer, you could plan a trip to Bhimtal to beat the heat. Leaving you with a picture of the calm and placid waters.